


The Questions Drabbles

by stardust_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_made/pseuds/stardust_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles that outlines the progress of Sherlock and John's relationship from Sherlock's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Questions Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nausicaa83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa83/gifts).



_  
****  
_   
**Who**

  
I finally drop into bed at two. The residual adrenaline of the last seven hours drains slowly out through my fingers and my toes. I’m tired. Tired and bracing myself against the inevitable anti-climax. It will be a major one—proportionate to the exuberant high.

But this time there’s something that might just make it more bearable. A new case, a permanent one: The man sleeping in the room upstairs on a bare mattress, with my spare pillow under his mystifying head and my spare blanket over his lived-in body.

Who are you, John Watson?

My stomach flips in anticipation.

  
 **Where**

I crash his dates. I leave him behind. I get him in trouble. I have no regard for his personal possessions. I don’t consider his comfort at home or elsewhere. I insult his intelligence, his character and his effort to keep up with my work.

I bin my needles for him to see. I lie to him. I even manipulate him.

I bring someone home and leave my bedroom door wide open.

I push and push, and he takes it. He grumbles. Occasionally he gives as good as he gets. But he doesn’t leave.

Where are your limits, John Watson?

  
 **When**

I’ve just had the first personal argument of my adult life with someone other than my brother. A real, thundering one, with the yelling and the horrendous discomfort and the ugly fall out.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel dazed and numb. I feel torn between wanting to call him hundreds of times to beg him to come back and locking myself in my bedroom and never speaking to him again. I feel queasy. I _feel_.

I don’t know how people can live with the people they—

When did you become so important to me, John?

  
 **How**

His presence accompanies me: a shadow that’s mine yet his and his alone, always there to offer cool respite. His understanding of my work is enough to make him useful but not enough to rob me of his admiration. He is the black-board for my thoughts, my other pair of eyes, my only gun. His loyalty is boundless, as is his forgiveness. He is my trusted walking stick through the conundrums of humanity and through the greater darkness of my mind.

Awake at night I marvel at the miracle that has befallen me.

My John. How did you find me?

  
 **What**

We spend the evening as usual: together, at home. We eat dinner. My neck flushes when he loosens his belt, while he thinks I’m not looking. I arrange some files. He uses his laptop and giggles at pictures of dogs with eye patches. His eyes crinkle. He consults someone over the phone on the symptoms of what looks like measles. His eyes sharpen.

He says goodnight and leaves. To his bedroom. I drop on my knees in front of his chair and bury my face in the cushion.

What can I do to make you take me with you, John?

  
 **Why**

That night, my nerve endings are still weeping perfect round droplets of pleasure when I feel my body seize with a different kind of convulsions. My heart stutters between physical exertion and emotional vehemence.

It has broken me, finally: the safety of our locked door, the privacy of the drawn curtains. Our fire-lit room, sheltering us under its roof like a heavenly dome. The tenderness of his hands, the inexorable heat of his mouth, the hallowed cocoon of his embrace. I have _everything_ , all this—for myself. Why?

Why do you love me, John?

His worried, soothing caresses answer my tears.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the fantastic [](http://disastrolabe.livejournal.com/profile)[disastrolabe](http://disastrolabe.livejournal.com/). Original entry at my livejournal [over here](http://stardust-made.livejournal.com/15548.html).


End file.
